The Newest Story of Mt Vesuvius
by seabelangermly
Summary: It was a peaceful day between best friends, until something goes terribly wrong. T for character death in later chapters and depressed and sick Italy


"What was that?" Germany asked. It had been the third or fourth time he'd heard a weird rumbling in the distance, and it was getting harder to ignore as it got louder.

Italy, oblivious as always, shrugged. "A storm? Is there clouds?" He asked.

Germany stood up and pulled the curtain aside. "It's just…" He trailed off. The supposedly dormant volcano a mile away from the Italian's house had black smoke drifting skywards.

"What? What is it?" He jumped up. Germany moved aside and Italy's smile disappeared. "It's not possible…"

"Italy, let's get out of here, now." Germany tugged lightly on the smaller man's arm. Usually, this was enough to move him, but Italy didn't budge. He was seemingly hypnotized by the smoke. "We have to go, quickly. Now, Italy." He still didn't move. He stood there, his face completely serious. "What is it?"

Italy tried to say something, but it was all blubbering gibberish. Germany tried to decipher whatever he was trying to say, and came up with just one thing. "He's at the store." It made no sense. It must have just been shock, or so Germany thought.

An enormously powerful rumble knocked them both off balance. A bookshelf in the room tipped over, the wood cracking on the floor. Citizens ran panicked down the street, weaving between traffic. Germany stood up and scooped Italy up in his arms. Red-hot lava poured down the smoking volcano. Germany flung the front door open and ran. He slowed to a walk after a few miles, and by nightfall he was exhausted. Italy had been staring into nothing, mumbling to himself. Panting, Germany set him down. "I can't carry you forever."

Italy, who seemed to be in a trance still, shook his head. "He was at the store."

"Who was at the store?"

Ignoring him, Italy continued. "…the store by Vesuvius."

"What?"

"…Vesuvius the volcano." He said. He wasn't speaking to anyone in particular.

"Italy, what are you talking about?" Germany took his friend by the shoulders and shook him.

For a second, the weird look left Italy's face disappeared and he opened his mouth a if to say something. Then he just shook his head. "The store…"

"Gott, I give up. Listen, I'm going to call mein bruder and have him come pick us up, because I can't carry you all the way to my place. He took out his cell phone and dialed Prussia's number.

A dazed voice answered from the other end. "Little brother…"

"Ja, Prussia I need you to come pick us up in your car."

"On one condition." Prussia teased.

"Condition? Prussia, this isn't the time for jokes. I need you to pick us up. It's already dark out."

"Say I'm awesome. He snickered.

"Prussia!"

"Say it."

"I'm not going to-"

"My battery is going to die. Do you want me to pick you up or not?"

"Mein Gott, this is ridiculous. You're…awesome." Germany sighed.

Prussia laughed his signature laugh. "Alright, I'm coming. I'll be there in half an hour."

"Half an hour? Prussia, the speed limit-" Prussia hung up.

Forty-five minutes later, Prussia pulled up. Germany lifted Italy into the back seat and hastily buckled him in. Then he settled himself into the passenger seat. "What's his problem?"

"I think it's just shock. A volcano erupted in his country today." He turned his attention to a half-full beer bottle in the cup holder. "Have you been drinking? Prussia, you can't drink and drive."

Prussia laughed. "Says who?"

"The law!" Germany grabbed the bottle and threw it out onto the street, where it shattered. "Now get out of the car."

"What?"

"I don't want you driving me around. I'll drive." Germany opened his door. Prussia did the same and they switched seats.

"I swear, if you scratch my car-"

"I won't!" Prussia didn't respond. Instead, he stared out the window at the cooling lava that glowed in the distance. Germany gripped the wheel tightly. Nothing made much sense anymore. Italy was dead to the world, and Prussia was driving drunk. Sure, he was an idiot, but he knew better than to bring beer in his car. Something else was missing too, but what? They drove in silence. Germany pulled into their driveway. Prussia had fallen asleep, as had Italy. "We're here." Italy's eyes snapped open, but he still looked lost. Prussia didn't move. Oh well, he could sleep in the car. Italy mechanically unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. Germany led him inside. One of his dogs raised its head to the noise of the door, but quickly fell back asleep. They walked upstairs, undressed, and climbed into bed. Sleeping together wasn't really weird anymore, though it probably should have been. Grown men didn't sleep together unless…well… Germany pushed that thought out of his mind. They'd never been like _that. _

Italy fell asleep quickly. Just as Germany was drifting off to sleep, he heard one word escape Italy's lips. It was the thing Germany had forgotten about. "Fratello…" Germany sat up and looked at his friend. He was sleeping, but when he awoke, he'd surely be in tears.

**Okay, so I should probably explain my 'personal rules' for country death. Normal people cannot kill them, but other country personifications can with things like a bullet or sword. Natural disasters that affected their land can kill them, but not if they aren't in their own country. For example, Germany could not have died in Mt. Vesuvius's eruption, but Italy could have. Also, if there is damage to a country's land, population, government, etc. then the personification can feel sick or injured. *hint hint***

**By the way, Mt. Vesuvius is in middle Italy, and has been proclaimed dormant. One time, however, a volcano in Sicily had been proclaimed dormant forever, and erupted just months later. A second time this happened in southern Italy. **

**Also, don't apply all these rules about death and whatnot to all my stories. Sometimes I'm speaking about them as just people, or sometimes(because of my extremely creepy mind)I want to find creative ways to kill off/ severely wound characters. Don't ask why. It's best you not try to figure me out sometimes. I'm just creepy. If you've ever sent me hate mail/ pointlessly rude comments like "You suck!" then you know what I mean. I'm not saying I can't handle criticism, but at least make it constructive. I want to know how to fix things, not just that I suck at writing…**


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